


We Could Live There Together

by the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord



Category: Beavis and Butt-head
Genre: F/F, M/M, angsty as hell lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord/pseuds/the_names_of_those_who_love_the_lord
Summary: Highland High School is pleased to invite you to the Class of 1997's ten-year reunion on Sept. 26, 2007. Step back in time to the nineties while mingling with the friends and teachers who made your teenage years so special! $25 per person, $40 per couple. RSVP Stewart Stevenson.
Relationships: Beavis/Butt-head (Beavis and Butt-head), Cassandra/Female OC (background)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 18





	We Could Live There Together

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is nothing to do with Some Blackbird's Wing. That happy ending never happened here. These are the real sadness hours.

Benjamin Head sits at the breakfast table with his coffee and goes through his mail. When he reaches the invitation, he rolls his eyes and mutters, "Christ."

"What is it?" Jenna doesn't look up from her toast.

"My high school reunion is in two weeks' time."

"Oh." She stands up to put her plate in the sink. "Well, have fun."

He glances at her. "You don't want to come with me?"

But she's turned the tap on and doesn't hear him. He doesn't ask again. Later that day, he sends a $25 cheque to Stewart.

* * *

William Beavis goes down to the post office at noon to see if his new router has arrived yet. It hasn't, but the guy at the counter says, "Oh, hold on," and puts a brightly-coloured card into his hand.

He turns it over and squints at it. "The hell is this crap?" 

The guy looks at him funny. "Read it and find out."

Billy glares at him, shoves the card in his pocket, and stalks out onto the street. He finds a bench to sit on and retrieves the card to sound out the words. It takes him ten minutes to figure out what it says. 

When he realises what he's looking at, he goes back into the post office and flags down the guy behind the counter. "Uh, sorry 'bout all that. Listen," and he takes out a twenty and a five from his wallet, "I need an envelope and, um, a stamp."

The clerk duly raises his eyebrows. "They don't cost that much."

"I know, dumbass. Can I borrow that pen?"

* * *

Two weeks later, Benjamin parks his car at the high school and cuts the engine. He sits encased in silence, looking out at the gym. He can see people in evening wear going up the steps. 

"Just like prom," he mumbles, and gets out. It's like turning up the volume on the world. He can hear a breeze testing the yellowed leaves of a nearby cherry tree; a familiar voice carries through the air, speaking too loud but not shouting. He shoves his hands in his pockets and ambles towards it.

Across the parking lot, Billy finally manages to get his car between the lines. He opens the door a crack to keep from banging the BMW beside him and edges out, sucking in his stomach. Once he's out, he checks and double-checks that the car is locked before striding towards the gym, humming a meandering tune.

He scans the mass of people drawing up to the double doors and recognises nobody. He looks down at himself and realises that he's not dressed right. All the other men are in tuxedos, but he's in the jeans and dress shirt he wore for his niece's christening four years ago. God damn it.

He growls at himself and stomps up the steps. 

Stewart stands backlit in the doorway, checking off a list of names. "Cassandra, it's good to see you. Dean, I'm glad you could make it. And you are....?"

"C'mon, Stewart, you know me," Billy snaps. 

Stewart blinks at him. The past ten years have been exceptionally good to him. His muscles are obvious beneath the expensive lines of his suit. His gormless expression is the same, though, and the embarrassment makes Billy's stomach cramp.

But Stewart's face brightens. "Oh my God....Beavis? Is that you?" He grabs Billy by his shoulders and examines him closely, almost touching noses. "You've changed so much! I didn't even recognise you!"

Billy creases his face against the claggy warmth of Stewart's breath and tries to twist away. 

"Stewart, quit acting weird." It's been a full decade, but he could pick that bored drawl out of a crowd of thousands. "Let him go and cross his name off the stupid list already."

"Butt-Head! This is incredible!" Stewart relinquishes his grip and surges forward to give Benjamin the same treatment. "Man, you guys both look so, so different! Your heads are smaller, your quiffs are gone, you -"

"We own mirrors, Stewart," Benjamin retorts. He brushes him off and pushes past. "See you inside."

Billy rubs his sore arms and follows him in.

* * *

They've tricked out the gym hall to make it look like a fancy restaurant, but they can't hide the cinderblock walls smeared with ancient chewing-gun, or the incinerated flies clogging the overhead lights. Underneath the sprayed vanilla scent is the eternal smell of rubber and sweat. It's like a riptide; one lungful drags Benjamin right back to ninth grade.

McVicker isn't there, courtesy of a heart attack back in 2002. Van Driessen, visibly uncomfortable in formal clothes, drifts between tables, trying to jimmy his way into the conversations of past students. Coach Buzzcut is thinner than he used to be, shadows beneath his steely eyes, and Benjamin remembers signing some kind of card for him six months ago when he first had to go into the hospital. The coach is leant up against a wall, scowling at everybody like he wishes they'd get the hell out already and put the gym back to normal. Their eyes meet, and to Benjamin's surprise, Buzzcut gives him a grim smile and a quick nod of solidarity.

There are imitation candles everywhere and the chairs tied with bows, but what he sees is the cafeteria back in 1993, and his thoughts are those of a child who knows that any table he sits at will be a plague zone until he leaves.

"Ben," someone says. He knows that scratchy voice. He turns.

"Bill."

Beavis looks jaundiced beneath the flourescents. He's not dressed right. It's like he just wandered in off the street, and Butt-Head's heart lifts because they're adults now and Beavis' corn-yellow hair is razed to stubble but some things never change. 

It's ridiculous, but he finds that he is picturing himself as Beavis must see him, worrying about his paunch and his crow's-feet wrinkles. He makes himself stop.

Beavis steps forward, unsmiling. "So, uh, you decided to come."

"Yeah." Butt-Head finds he can't quite make eye contact. Training his gaze on Beavis's ear, he adds, "It's been a long time, huh?"

"It has," Beavis agrees, his tone indicating a chronic lack of interest. "I guess you wanna go ahead and find a seat."

"Sure. See you later." Butt-Head turns around and wanders at random between the tables. His heart beats so hard that it hurts his ribs. His bowels are in knots. He changes course and heads to the restroom.

He locks the door and lets himself tremble as he squats on the toilet. He thinks he might puke, and wishes he'd done that first because there's nothing worse than hanging over the bowl with the stink of your own shit in your nostrils. His insides all come loose and fall out in liquid form. He feels better. 

He washes his hands until they squeak and splashes water on his face and looks at his reflection in the smeary mirror and wonders when he got so old. 

Returning to the hall, he scans the tables and sees Beavis sitting by himself in the far corner. He pretends he didn't, and makes his way to where Cassandra is sitting with a beautiful woman. She sees him and waves. Just then, Stewart bumbles over and sits down. Butt-Head wants to pull out every strand of hair on his scalp and curse God. He also wants to sit somewhere else, but Cass has seen him, so he pulls up a chair and grits his teeth.

"Hey! Butt-Head! My man!" Oh Christ, it looks like Stewart is going to go for a high five. 

Mercifully, Cassandra interrupts. "Ben? Look at you! You're all grown up!"

"Cass, it's been way too long." He reaches across to press her hand. "Who's the hot chick?"

"Oh, um, this is my date. Cecie, this is Benjamin."

Butt-Head takes a half-second too long to process this. Panic flickers in Cassandra' eyes. He saves the situation by being overfamiliar with her plus-one. "Cecie! God, you are something else. Where'd Cass find a knockout like you?"

It's true that Cecie has the strong bone structure and glossy hair of someone not raised on Highland's irradiated vegetables and chlorinated chicken. "We met at college," she shrugs, unsmiling. "We took the same philosophy class."

"You went to college? That's cool." Butt-Head wants to die, but his mouth is running like a tap he can't turn off. "So what'd you do with all that philosophy, Cass?"

"Oh, it wasn't my major, it was just for extra credit. I did environmental sciences. I work for the parks and recreation department."

"That sounds like a lot of fun!" Shut up you're stealing all Stewart's lines shut the fuck up. "What, um, what kind of stuff -"

"Beavis is all by himself over there." Cassandra is craning her neck to look.

"He is? Well, that's his decision."

Stewart's complacent grin vanishes. "What? I thought you guys came together."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Butt-Head snaps. Everyone leans back a little. He forces his hands to lie flat on the tablecloth and exhales. "Look, Stewart, Beavis and I....haven't spoken since graduation. I didn't even know he was gonna be here."

Stewart stares at him with an intensity that would read as naked aggression on anyone else. "You have got to be kidding me. You and Beavis? C'mon!" He rolls his head around, looking for people to appreciate his outrage. "You guys were the Laurel and Hardy of Highland for fifteen years! You're telling me that you haven't even seen each other since 1997?"

Butt-Head nods once. A burning sensation at the nape of his neck tells him that Beavis is looking at them. 

("I didn't think that thing at prom was that serious," Cassandra mumbles.)

"Well, I'm going to fix that, right now!" Stewart stands up, tipping his chair, and puts his hands around his mouth to broadcast his words even further than usual. "HEY! Beavis! Get your butt over here!"

"God damn it, Stewart, no!" Butt-Head tries to pull him back down, but it's too late. Beavis gets up from his half-hidden table in the corner and starts picking his way across to them. His expression is professionally blank. 

Back when they were teenagers, they would play poker sometimes, and Butt-Head would always win because Beavis couldn't keep his face straight. He'd giggle, or scowl, and then try to mash his features into order and say "All in." Now, he wears a polite mask. If they were still friends, Butt-Head would ask him where he learnt that. No, he wouldn't ask, because he would already know, because he can give a potted history of Beavis from ages three to eighteen and there's no reason they wouldn't have continued like that if that thing hadn't happened.

Pulling back the only remaining chair, Beavis nods at them all in turn, except Butt-Head, whom he doesn't seem to see. To Stewart, he says, "What is it?"

Stewart grins and gestures at Butt-Head like he shouldn't have to explain. Beavis' pained silence says otherwise.

"Don't play innocent! It's Butt-Head!" Cassandra takes off her glasses and cleans them with the hem of her dress. Cecie bites her lip and looks off into the distance. "You guys were like one person back in high school! And you haven't talked since you left? That's crazy!"

"It happens," Beavis says into his hands.

"Yeah, I mean, I haven't been in touch with the guys from my old youth group since freshman year of college, but you guys? No way. It shouldn't be like that." Stewart sits back down with a thump, his smile gone. "You were meant to be the ones that stuck together."

"Well, we're sorry to have disappointed you." Butt-Head reaches for the menu. "Ladies, what are you thinking?"

* * *

Dinner is carrot soup and chicken supreme and a single tiny profiterole laced with melted chocolate. Everything is edible but there's not enough of it. The portion sizes are laughable and Beavis slurps the standard single glass of pinot grigio that they were all served and thinks about how he paid twenty-five dollars for this.

Someone jogs his elbow. He looks around. It's Butt-Head, or the stranger who used to be Butt-Head. He slides his profiterole onto Beavis's plate. 

"I'm full," he whispers. "You still look hungry, though."

Beavis picks up his fork and stabs into the profiterole. "That's really thoughtful of you."

Butt-Head gives him a wan smile. "Sorry about Stewart," he says. "I couldn't get him to stop."

Beavis eyes the big man, who is roaring facts about himself to Dean three tables away. ("JOINED DAD'S COMPANY FIVE YEARS BACK! IT'S GOING GREAT! I MIGHT MAKE PARTNER AT THE END OF THIS YEAR!") "He was pretty bummed about us not being friends anymore."

"Yeah, really," Butt-Head sneers. "Enough about him. I haven't seen you since the nineties. C'mon, let's talk out on the field."

So they jimmy themselves out of their seats and head for the side door. Beavis turns back without meaning to and catches Cassandra watching them, her eyes watery blue and intensely sad. When she sees him looking, she whips her head around and says something into Cecie's ear. 

He ignores it.

The world outside is twilit, blue-filtered like a foreign film; steel-coloured cirrus clouds fan across the cold sky. The air has that smoky autumnal smell, a million times better than the gym hall with its layers of warmed-over food and Febreze, and Beavis wants to stand there all night inhaling it.

They walk across the dewy athletics field, their hands in their pockets.

"What the hell have you been up to." Butt-Head makes it sound like a statement in itself, not a question he needs answered.

"Stuff. You know."

"Stuff? The past ten years?"

"You want me to be specific?" The anger is always in him, sunk deep like an oil well. "I pumped gas for a while, got into community college. I keep the accounts for the tennis club. Mom died last year. All caught up?"

"Your mom _died?"_ Butt-Head pulls up and stares at him. "That's...." He scuffs his shoe against the grass and looks away. "That's fucked up, dude. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. She went quick enough." Getting the call from his half-brother: come to the hospital _now._ Fishtailing in the parking lot. Getting lost twice in the building, accosting strangers and yelling into their faces, too frantic to listen to directions. Then, the motionless wait. Holding her hand and watching the whites of her eyes turn yellow. 

Butt-Head crosses the little distance between him and grabs his shoulder. He reels him into an awkward one-armed hug, pressing their foreheads together as though to beam messages through their skulls. He releases him and says, "Are you okay?"

"You've really changed since we were kids, dude. Am I okay? Seriously?"

Butt-Head pulls away, his face tight. "What do you mean?"

"You never used to cared if I was alright or not alright or actually dying. Ten years go by and you've turned into Mister fucking Rogers."

"Hey." Butt-Head's tone is suddenly more mellow, even though Beavis is mad enough to spit at him. "I did care about you. Really." A beat. "I still do."

Beavis stumbles, catches himself, and walks on. Butt-Head ambles alongside him. It's like when they were kids, walking around with nothing to do, except back then Butt-Head would lead and he would always follow. 

"I think I might get married soon," Butt-Head muses, like he's reading over a dessert menu.

"Fucking _what?_ Who would marry you?"

"I met a chick when I got my first sales job." Butt-Head walks onward, getting faster, his head down. "Her name's Jenna. She's great." He exhales. "Really great."

"Have you guys, y'know -"

"God, you are such a kid." Flash of teeth in the dark, no more braces. "Yeah, we've been having sex since like two weeks after we met."

Beavis licks his lips and is quiet for a moment. They are more than halfway across the field, walking it widthways. "What does it feel like?"

Butt-Head bursts into disbelieving laughter. "Dude, you're telling me you're twenty-eight and you haven't lost your virginity yet?"

"Twenty-seven," Beavis replies, rubbing his arms. The night's gone chilly and his shirt is thin. "My birthday's in October."

"Oh, yeah." Butt-Head canters in close and slings a matey arm around him. "But in all these years you haven't scored with a chick? That's so sad." He lowers his voice. "Don't worry 'bout it. The first time sucks. After that, it's alright. Not so special." He springs away, cackling. "But seeing a girl with all her clothes off rules. It's way better than porn, 'cos you can touch her an' all."

"I wasn't asking how sex felt, dumbass, I already know."

"You do?" Butt-Head spins around and walks backwards, his forehead wrinkled up. "You should've said. Who'd you do it with?" When Beavis doesn't answer, he rolls his eyes and says, "Aw, don't bullshit me with that 'she lives in another state' crap. You're lying, aren't you?"

"If you must know," Beavis snaps, dodging around him, "it was a guy, okay? I turned 21, I went to a shitty gay bar in Austin, I went home with the biggest douchebag there."

Butt-Head's footsteps stop. Beavis keeps going. There's a path alongside the field that leads back to the parking lot. He can slip away and never have to see any of these people again.

There's a sound behind him like bird-wings, getting louder. Something like a train wallops him in the back and sends him skidding across the damp grass, droplets flying. He wheezes into the earth. Butt-Head kneels on him and says, out of breath, "Top or bottom?"

"Top," Beavis gasps.

Butt-Head processes this for a moment. "Sounds like a lot of work for you, but you've always been hyper, so I believe you. Still, dark horse." He rolls off him and flops down onto the turf. 

Beavis coughs and raises himself onto his elbows. "Oh, please. Like you didn't know. Your bullshit was the whole reason we had that argument on prom night."

Complete silence.

He gets to his feet and brushes himself off. Butt-Head doesn't move.

As he crosses the last twenty feet to the side-path, he thinks about the cheeseburger he's gonna get on the way home. He'll go into the Burger World and stand at the counter, and there'll be two workers maximum in the kitchen, but they'll be happy and goofy because they won't realise they're being exploited. Like he was, once. Before the fall.

Footsteps again, getting closer. Christ. But he slows down, and Butt-Head catches up and puts a hand on his arm.

"I think they're getting ready for the dance back there," he says. Strains of Weezer's blue album rise on the thermals. _The world has turned and left me here._ "Let's go back. They're gonna think we're up to no good."

"Since when have you cared about what other people thought?" Beavis turns and heads back, tracking across his own footprints. Butt-Head paces around him in slow, progressing circles, like a shark trying to figure out if the shape on the surface is a seal or a surfer. "That fight wasn't about what people would say if they found out."

"I remember. Also, I didn't think it would be this easy to talk about it." 

"This isn't easy."

"i didn't see us talking at all. I didn't even think you'd show up."

"Yeah, well," and Beavis grabs his hand and holds it tight, "you're not the only guy in town who graduated high school."

He lets go once they get within the range of the light spilling from the side door. A little cheer goes up when they appear. Stewart claps, but stops quickly. His face is flushed. Beavis catches Butt-Head's eye and doesn't have to say anything, doesn't even have to change his expression. They chortle just like they used to and head in opposite directions to find dance partners.

All the girls are hazy with wine and nostalgia, and they all want to dance with them. Butt-Head cod-waltzes Kimberley across the sticky parquet and wonders why this couldn't have happened at the prom. If he and Beavis had been occupied with girls that night, maybe that thing wouldn't have ever happened and their lives would have spooled on the way they were supposed to. Kim is warm against him. She knows more about dancing than he does, and surreptitiously leads. He notices a thread of grey in her hair. 

Beavis spins past with Cassandra, giggling. Their eyes meet briefly, and then another couple gets between them. Butt-Head tries not to step on Kim's feet. She says into his ear, "You got really cute after high school."

Butt-Head smirks. "Thanks, baby."

She swats his arm and laughs. Butt-Head feels great about this for exactly three seconds. Then he looks at the edge of the dancefloor and catches a guy staring at him with undisguised hatred. Husband alert.

Mercifully, the song ends thirty seconds later. Butt-Head disengages before Kim can ask for another round and veers off towards the punch table. If prom night is anything to go by, it's been well-spiked by now.

Beavis appears at his elbow, jittering. Butt-Head looks at him from the corner of his eye. His face is flushed with pleasure, his eyes eggshell-blue and popping from their sockets. "I danced with a girl!" he crows, sounding fifteen all over again. 

"Dude, lesbians like Cassandra don't count." Butt-Head leers at him and slops vodka-smelling punch into two paper cups. "I got to dance with Kimberley. Remember her? She was all over me."

Beavis's face falls. He points at the cups. "Hey, we're both driving."

Butt-Head thumps the table. "Aw, shit." He dumps the punch back in the bowl; the liquid splashes onto his dress jacket. "Oh, come the fuck on!"

Beavis snickers at him. "Come into the bathroom with me. Let's see if the hand-dryer can make a dent in it."

* * *

It's just like prom. Butt-Head jams himself into the corner beside the sinks and holds the damp part of his jacket underneath the dryer. Beavis leans up against the opposite wall, watching him and yelling to be heard over the roar of the ancient machine.

"This Jenna chick," he says. "Is she hot?"

"I dunno. That's not why I'm with her, anyway."

"You don't know if a chick is hot? Christ, Butt-Head, you've really gone off your game since high school."

"You don't get it." His jacket is as dry as it's going to get. He steps away from the dryer; it shuts off, and he can talk properly. "She's funny, and she likes the same stuff I like, and she has sex with me. That's all I care about in a relationship."

"Right." Beavis clunks his heel against the wall. He sounds pissed all of a sudden. "Well, if she's so special, why isn't she here?"

"Didn't wanna come. It's my high school reunion, not hers." 

"Everybody else brought a plus-one."

"Yeah, and it's turning out really great, isn't it? Half the people here want to strangle the other half. And, by the way, you didn't bring one."

"Didn't have one. There was a time when that would've been your job."

There it is. "Oh, c'mon, Beavis. Get over it, won't you? It was ten years ago."

"You're the one who started it. You're the one who _insisted_ on pulling that shit at the prom. And then, after we had that fight, you never called me afterwards." Beavis's voice is high and screechy, the way it always goes when he's upset. "How could you do that to someone who'd had your back since you were a baby?"

"That wasn't just me, though! Your mom was trying to get clean. I had to move in with my uncle after the landlord kicked me out to sell the house. We grew apart, that's all."

"Oh, and it's just a coincidence that that happened right after we had a huge fight! Hell of a lot of growing!"

"You got that right. Excuse me," and Butt-Head pushes past him and goes back to the hall.

They've missed something big. The music is off, the lights are up, and everyone is clustered in the middle of the dance floor. Someone in the middle of the crowd is crying. A man, it sounds like Stewart, says, "Get him out of here." 

Cassandra appears at his elbow. "Ben, for your own good, you should leave."

"Why?"

"Kimberley's husband slapped her. In front of everybody." Cassandra clutches her pocketbook to her chest. Her skin strains white over her knuckles. "I'm not saying for a moment it was your fault, but you did dance with her, and if he sees you on his way out, he might come after you."

"Got it."

She looks stricken. "I'm so sorry. This is a terrible way to end your night. At least you got to see Beavis again, though."

He kisses her forehead. "I know. Bye, Cass."

* * *

Footsteps catch up with him in the parking lot. "Hey! Wait up!"

Benjamin turns around. Billy slows down and says, "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. Kim's husband slapped her. Cassandra said I should make tracks 'cos he might come after me for dancing with her."

"Woah." Billy leans against the boot of the car. "God, this is just like prom. Domestic violence and us having to leave early."

"I've been thinking about the similarities all evening," Ben agrees. He unlocks the car. "Well, see you in another ten years, I guess."

"Aw, Ben, no. C'mon, can I give you my number? Or my address?" When Benjamin doesn't answer, he says, "So you're gonna let a piddling little thing that happened years ago separate us forever."

"What the hell do you want me to do? We've already been away from each other for too long. Do you expect us to go right back to the way we were when we were fifteen?"

Billy's hands tighten into fists. "You ditched me over something that was your fault. Don't whine about how long it's been. We could've fixed this years ago."

"Yeah, well." Benjamin gets in the car and slams the door. He cranks down the window, leans his head out, and calls, "I'm about to reverse this thing, so you might wanna hop off before you get rolled over." A hollow clunk and a shrieked four-letter word tell him that Billy has kicked the chassis in anger. He checks the rear-view mirror and backs out of the space.

Billy comes up to his window, leans down, and says, "Right. Another decade of ignoring each other it is."

Benjamin grabs his hand and squeezes it. "I'd like to be normal. I'd like to be safe for once in my life." He remembers something. "Beavis, when you asked earlier what it felt like....what did you mean? You've already had sex. I suppose it's pretty much the same whoever you're screwing."

"I wanted to know what it feels like to have someone." Beavis looks at their hands as though they belong to other people, to lives not theirs. He takes a shuddery breath. "I used to have someone. I loved them very much. But that was a long time ago, and I forgot along the way. So. What's it like?"

Benjamin reaches up with his free hand and catches a tear from Bill's eye with his thumb. His throat hurts almost too bad to talk. "You remember that moment on prom night, right before everything went wrong?" 

_Slow-dancing on a kind of dare, a Gay Chicken variation, purely because none of the girls wanted anything to do with them. They didn't know the moves. They trod on each other's feet and bickered as they clumsily two-stepped across the dance floor to 'Truly Madly Deeply'. But then a shaft of light from the disco ball blinded them, for one moment they were silent with wonderment, and stood still in the middle of all the whirling couples._

"All the time?" Billy asks him, and lets go of his hand.

Benjamin hesitates. "At its best, yeah."

Billy nods like he understands and steps away. Benjamin winds up the window. He puts the car into reverse and backs out of the space.

As he drives out of the parking lot, he sees Billy in the rearview mirror raising his hand as though to wave, then letting it drop. Once he's out of sight of the school, he pulls over and cries for a good long time, getting snot on his jacket sleeve. When he's done, he starts the engine again and sets off on the road out of town, the streetlights washing over him like watercolours and the moon a white coin at the corner of his eye.

* * *

.... _I will buy us an acre of land in the city_

_We could live there together, or I'll live alone, unhappy,_

_But I'll live_

_Unfortunately._

'Love in the Time of Human Papillomavirus', Andrew Jackson Jihad.


End file.
